


Five Times Coulson Calls Daisy 'Skye'

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson struggling and being sure not to make it about himself, Daisy calling Coulson 'Phil', Daisy doesn't want to keep 'Skye' at all and that's okay, Dom Skye | Daisy Johnson, F/M, Masturbation, Name Change Drama, Oral Sex, Skye/Daisy doesn't like to inconvenience people, this is a fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head. “Daisy.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay, Coulson,” she shakes it off. “I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>And if you didn’t know her really well, if you hadn’t known her for two years by any name, you might believe it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Coulson Calls Daisy 'Skye'

1.

“Skye,” he greets her, a tiny sigh, when she walks into his office in her field uniform. It’s relief and pleasure at seeing her face, at seeing her alive and whole after a firefight that cut off comms.

Her face twitches, and he catches his mistake.

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head. “Daisy.”

“It’s okay, Coulson,” she shakes it off. “I don’t mind.”

And if you didn’t know her really well, if you hadn’t known her for two years by any name, you might believe it.

Because she doesn’t exactly mind, that’s the thing. She’d never hold it against him, she doesn’t want to inconvenience him, she wouldn’t ever want to make him feel like he has to work to keep her happy.

It makes him feel like human garbage, actually, to put her in this position — to make her feel like she has to cater to his stupid brain, to make her feel like his convenience is more important than her identity, than her healing.

“Daisy,” he repeats, and he wants to promise her a lot of things — that he’ll do better, that she doesn’t have to let him off, that she can demand things of him — but he doesn’t, just repeats it. “Daisy.”

It’s not her job to make him feel better for fucking this up; and he doesn’t want to put that on her anymore than he wants to disappoint her by not doing as she’s asked.

It’s on him, after all, to show her that she can trust him, to show her that she doesn’t have to worry about scaring him away with demands or imperfections.

“Daisy.”

She smiles at him, sweet and soft like it means something to her to hear him saying this name.

_Her name_.

  


2.

“Morning.”

She’s standing at the coffee pot in the kitchen, wearing her pajamas, still — sweats and a shirt that hangs off her shoulder, and he’s distracted by the line of her neck as it curves down to meet her collar bone.

“Morning, Skye,” he rubs the sleep from his eyes and catches it himself. “Daisy. Fuck.”

She laughs, a little amused burst of noise.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you use that particular word before.” Daisy’s eyebrow goes up, grin wide across her lips, and he blushes.

“I’m sorry.”

“For the name or the expletive?”

“Whichever? Both?”

“I don’t mind if you let loose with the cursing,” she half-laughs. “And I told you you don’t have to be sorry about the name.”

“I am, though.”

“It’s hard,” she excuses him, and he’s almost exasperated, almost wishes she would get angry at him about this.

“It _is_ hard,” he agrees. “And I’m still going to do my best to get it right.”

_Because you matter to me_.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he hopes it’s understood.

“Good morning, _Daisy_ ,” he tries again.

“Morning, _Phil_ ,” she responds, and it knocks the breath out of him for a minute, makes his skin tingle. They lock eyes, something questioning in hers.

Of course, it’s not exactly shocking.

Afterall, it’s not two years ago anymore. The idea of this kind of boundary between them is a joke, and it probably has been since the day he took that stupid bracelet off her wrist and thanked her for saving his life.

Still, he nods once, quietly accepting, trying to make it seem like it’s not such a big deal.

Even if it makes his skin tingle.

Hell, maybe it will help him remember, anyways, to hear her saying _Phil_. Maybe it will help him remember how things have changed, and not just for the worse.

Maybe some things have changed for the better.

“Do you want some coffee?”

She holds up the pot and pulls down the mug with the grumpy cat on it. (He’s given up protesting it, has gotten to where he kind of likes it.)

“Yeah, thank you, Daisy.”

“No problem, Phil.”

And it still makes his skin tingle.

  


3.

“Skye,” he moans against the shower tile, so the sound echoes through the small chamber.

He grunts at himself, disappointment, and pulls his hand off his cock, lets his head thunk forward onto the tile.

Bad enough he’s here doing this, bad enough he’s gotten so accustomed to this dirty habit, standing in his shower first thing in the morning thinking about her.

(It makes it easier, though, when he walks into his office and sees her there. Or he tells himself it does.)

Bad enough he’s doing it, he at least means to get her name right as he thinks about her — her body and her smile and the way her hair moves when she turns to greet him.

“Daisy,” he sighs, pulling up the image of her in her tank top, of her standing in his office explaining something to him, of her as she has been these last months. “Daisy,” he repeats as he squeezes his cock again, as he begins stroking himself in a slow, lazy rhythm.

He rests his left arm on the wall, elbow bent, presses his forehead to his forearm just above the empty metal fixture where he attaches the hand.

“Daisy,” he whispers her name to himself, presses his forehead to his arm harder.

He’s getting better about it, even in his own head and even in his own private moments. But it’s been a slow process, replacing thought and word.

“Daisy.”

He pulls up the image of her in her field suit, of her slipping out of her field suit after a mission. She’s started doing it in front of him, like it’s nothing — like it’s something that doesn’t, that couldn’t possibly, fuel his every fantasy.

And every time she pulls down the zipper to reveal the tank top below, he knows he should have the strength to turn away, but he never seems to find it.

He thinks about her bare shoulders, Daisy’s bare shoulders, and the curves of her hips, Daisy’s hips. He thinks about being invited to touch, to put his hand on her bare skin, and he groans as his hand picks up speed.

“Daisy,” he whispers her name, not even image anymore, just the sound of it — increasingly familiar, increasingly normal, increasingly the way he thinks of her.

He comes wither name on his lips, with the sound of it echoing in the shower.

“Daisy.”

  


4.

“Phil, you _idiot_ ,” she pushes him roughly against the wall, hand in the center of his chest, “you could have gotten killed.”

He clenches his jaw because he’s _not_ going to apologize, not for trying to save her life. He was supposed to stay on board Zephyr1, wasn’t supposed to be a part of this fight at all.

And yes, he broke protocol, he disobeyed her orders even though this was her mission, but he’s not going to apologize.

“I had it covered,” she tells him, eyes and mouth and jaw _hard_ as she stares him down.

It sinks in a little bit.

The fact is that she probably _did_ have it covered, that his stupid attempt at heroics was almost certainly unnecessary.

He frowns, opens his mouth, tries to find some way to express all of this, when she shocks him by pressing her lips against his.

Coulson groans loud and low as her body crashes against him, as her tongue slips into his mouth.

“ _Skye_ ,” he breathes between kisses, between frantically chasing her mouth with his own.

She pulls back first, her hand still pinning him to the wall.

“I always knew you’d call me _Skye_ the first time I did that,” she tells him, a little grin breaking up her anger, like she’s proud of the fact that she’s broken a pretty good streak of him not fucking up her name.

It makes him smile, big and wide and stupid, because she’s thought about this — about _the first time she would do this_ — and he exhales hard.

“Daisy,” he tries again, watching her lips curve before she kisses him — open mouthed, breath passing between them. It’s a full body contact sport (and somehow he always knew this, that kissing Daisy would be a full contact thing), as she presses herself against him, encourages his hands as they wind down her back to cup her ass.

“I’m still mad at you,” she grunts, dropping her mouth from his lips in order to bite his jaw, a sharp press of teeth that makes his cock pulse and his knees go weak.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, grunting as she bites again, a sharp edge of pain at the top of his neck that makes him shiver.

“How are you gonna do that, Phil?”

She whispers the question under his ear, makes all the skin on the right side of his body come alive, and then bites his sensitive, goose-flesh-covered neck again.

“Daisy,” he grunts, because his body is on fire and he can’t handle much more.

“How will you make it up to me?”

The question is whispered in his other ear, makes the other half of his body light up.

“However you want. Whatever you want,” he promises; his brain isn’t fully functional anymore, not that it ever has been when she’s standing so close to him.

“When I give you an order, Phil —”

“I’ll follow it,” he promises.

She pulls back and swallows, and he sways after her, attempts to get his mouth back on hers. Her hand is the only thing that keeps him against the wall.

“We’re going to go to your bedroom and test that,” she informs him.

“Daisy,” he whispers, and follows helplessly behind her.

  


5.

“Skye,” he breathes the name as she lets her towel drop to the floor, leaving her naked.

“You’ve gotten really bad about that lately,” she points out to him, hand on her hip to emphasize the smallest part of her waist and hair beginning to dry so that it frames the perfect line of her jaw.

And he’s seen her naked plenty of times by now — it’s relatively new, yes, but she’s not shy about it because of course she isn’t, she has nothing to be shy of — but her nudity still takes his breath away, still turns him into an idiot. Still makes him slip up.

Even so, the fact that she feels comfortable pointing out his use of the wrong name, calling him on it, actually warms his heart. Because it takes trust, he knows, for Daisy to ask for something she needs.

“I…” He shakes his head. “I thought of you like this for so long, but it was always....”

“You got used to saying _Skye_ in your fantasies,” she nods, like it makes sense. “It’s sometimes weirder to call you _Phil_ in here than it is out there,” she admits.

He blinks.

“Because you spent so much time fantasizing about me?” His words are incredulous, and he gets a raised eyebrow in return.

“Is that a serious question?”

She laughs and walks towards him — hips swaying, breasts bouncing, hair swinging— and then straddles his hips where he lounges back against the headboard in his pajamas.

His right hand curves around her hip to steady her in place as he looks up at her — glorious and naked on top of him. His left arm stays still on the bed; the prosthetic is already safe in its case across the room.

“You think I didn’t have fantasies of walking up to your office on the Bus one day and kissing you?”

He sort of sputters at that.

“Of taking apart _Agent Coulson_ in his office, starting with his tie and his perfect suit, and having him on top of his desk?”

“I think I would have liked that,” he manages to whimper as she presses her hips down against his cock, hard under his sweats.

“You would have,” she promises. And he likes it when she’s in this kind of mood — playfully confident. “Tell me what you used to think about. When you got used to saying _Skye_ in your fantasies.”

“In Lola,” he tells her, voice quiet and low.

“Car sex is overrated,” she suggests, and he half-laughs.

“On top of her hood. Or fingering you while you drove.”

He can see her pupils get wider, see the shudder that runs down her spine.

“That might be okay,” she concedes.

Coulson grins and drags his right hand up her body until he’s cupping her breast.

“What else?” Her voice is breathy against his fingers circling one nipple and then the other, so he he keeps going. He lifts his left arm to rest it against her lower back, and he’s almost used to this — the feel of her body right there where metal meets his skin.

Daisy doesn’t even flinch, of course.

“Just going down on you,” he answers, and she knows this already, that this is his thing. “On my knees,” he clarifies as he drags his thumb over her right nipple and then her left, watching as it gets harder, “making you come on my tongue.”

“You _are_ a good boy, Phil,” she whispers, and his cock pulses between her thighs even through two layers of cotton.

He’s surprised when her thumb brushes against his mouth, but he opens, allows her to press it inside, and he sucks gently on the digit.

She pulls it back and brushes the wet pad of her thumb across his lower lip.

“Do you want to get on your knees right now, Phil?”

He swallows against a surge of lust.

“Yes.”

“Or do you want to stay like you are…”

Daisy rises up onto her knees and tugs the pillow out from under his head. He watches as she walks herself up the bed on her knees until she’s poised over his mouth, straddling his face.

“ _Yes_ ,” he moans, clutches at her ass with his hand in attempt to get her lower, get her down to where he can put his mouth on her.

“What’s my name, Phil?”

“ _Daisy_ ,” he answers, easily. “Daisy, please.”

She laughs and lowers herself down onto his open mouth, lets him suck greedily at the wetness between her thighs before trailing his tongue from her clit down to press against her opening.

“Come on, Phil,” she murmurs, grinding herself down harder against his face.

He moans, tries to say her name again but finds it muffled by her wet flesh against his lips and chin.

She moves over him as much as he moves under her, almost riding his face as he works his tongue against her. And he’s always loved this position, if he’s being honest — the way it puts her in control of everything, even his breathing.

And every so often, Daisy lifts her hips enough for him to suck in air and groan her name, but mostly she grinds her hips against him until he can feel her start to come, her whole body shaking against his mouth, her clit spasming against his tongue.

His cock pulses, like he could almost come, too, but he just pumps his hips up against air until she collapses to the side of him, sprawled out on the bed.

“Daisy,” he whispers her name as he sits up and wipes his mouth on his shirt before pulling it off and tossing it off the side of the bed.

“Phil,” she answers, a cute satiated smile on her face.

He leans on his left arm as he hovers over her to kiss her softly, lips and chin and jaw.

“I want to make love to you, Daisy,” he whispers against her ear.

She rolls with him easily, still sprawled and satiated beneath him even as she pushes his sweats down his legs with her toes, and then wraps her legs around his hips to draw him close.

He moans her name as he sinks down inside of her, is gratified by the way she moans his back and wraps herself more tightly around him.

“Daisy” is the name on his lips as they rock together, a leisurely pace that gets faster and harder as she gets closer. “Daisy” is the name he groans as he comes, clutching her against him like something precious and loved. “Daisy” is the name he whispers against her neck as they close their eyes.

_Her name_.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
